23 Elite level Spearmanship!

Philip's eyes flickered open, the dim light of the room gently coaxing him back to consciousness. In front of him, a young woman was meticulously wrapping a roll of bandages around his hands, her focus intense as if each wrap was a sacred ritual. The table beside her was neatly arranged with medical supplies showing how she took care of his injury.

"You..." Philip began, his voice trailing off as he tried to piece together the puzzle before him.

Without looking up, the girl responded with a calmness that seemed to permeate the air, "I employed a bit of healing magic and used some plaster. The scars will fade in time."

Healing magic? Philip thought, a hint of awe mingling with his curiosity. Was she a mage then?

Gratitude swelled within him, pushing him to sit up despite the protest of his body. "Thank you," he said, the sincerity of his words hanging heavily between them.

"The Captain, Wolf, had to step out for a bit," she continued, her voice as serene as a still lake. "She left instructions for you to take this money and use it to recuperate at home." With that, she took out a silver coin from her pocket, placing it gently on the table.

Philip's lips tightened. The thought of accepting money, especially from mercenaries, gnawed at him especially after being raped by Captain Wolf. His pride balked at the notion of being seen as weak or powerless, especially given that he was being treated like a prostitute. He knew he was weak, he couldn't even best a sturdy blacksmith in his condition, let alone contend with the formidable likes of mercenaries or the wolf-orc Wolf.

Resolved, Philip slid out of bed and made his way to the door, bypassing the silver coin as if it were a mere pebble in his path. Yet, as he reached the threshold, a sudden impulse seized him. Turning back, he asked, "May I know your name, please?"

The girl paused in her actions, her brown hair cascading over her shoulder as she looked up. "Mili," she replied softly, a gentle strength in her voice.

With the name etched in his memory, Philip made his way home, the fading light ushering him into the embrace of dusk.

At home, after a modest meal, Philip noticed a subtle resurgence of magical energy within him. Could this be the effect of Mili's magical healing? Curiosity about her identity began to gnaw at him. Was Meili merely a healer, or did she have deeper ties to the mercenary group and, by extension, to Wolf?

As night cloaked the world in shadows, Philip's thoughts drifted to the whispered tales he'd overheard among the mercenaries—the legend of the Skeleton Knight, a being of such power that it could vanquish several mercenaries single-handedly. And yet, despite his own contract with an undead, Philip realized he had never truly seen the entity he was bound to.

With a newfound determination, he began to chant, the words of ancient spells flowing from his lips like a sacred stream. But despite his efforts, the air remained still, untouched by the stirrings of magic. No spectral form took shape; there was no sign of his undead companion.

"It seems my magical powers are still too meager to complete the summoning," Philip mused, his brows knit together in frustration. "And without sufficient strength, communication with the undead remains a distant dream."

He sighed, a sound laden with resignation and hope. "Then it's up to me to become stronger," he decided, channeling a sliver of his magic towards the bond he shared with his undead, willing it to grow, to not be overshadowed even by his own humble beginnings.

Under the celestial tapestry of the night sky, where stars twinkled like scattered jewels, Jason found solace in a secluded cave nestled within the mountain's embrace. He repurposed the carcass of a carrion moose into a makeshift sofa, its soft belly providing a momentary comfort from the harsh realities of his life as a rogue.

His right forearm was encased in plate armor, now marred by a long, narrow fissure that threatened its integrity. A holographic prompt floated before him, shimmering in the darkness:

[Repair Cost: 10 Copper Coins]

With a reluctant nod, Jason chose to pay, watching as the crack in his armor magically mended itself, the metal weaving back together like healing skin. A shiver of fear ran through him, a stark reminder of the day's close call.

"Damn those mercenaries," Jason muttered under his breath, the weight of his recent encounter heavy on his mind. The cave, his temporary refuge, seemed to echo his sentiments.

This morning had presented a narrow escape from what could have been certain death. Just as he thought he was free, reinforcements for the mercenaries arrived — but it was not the numbers that posed the threat; it was the man they called Scar. A formidable adversary, his presence was more daunting than any group he had face, his long, narrow scar across his face as intimidating as the crescent scimitar he wielded with unmatched mastery.

Scar's swordplay was a terrifying dance of death, circles of light flashing with each movement, rendering the air around him a deadly storm of invisible blades. The whistle of his scimitar slicing through the air was the only warning before destruction ensued, the grass beneath their feet shredded to pieces by the relentless assault.

Jason had never faced such speed. The relentless, invisible onslaught felt like a tempest, impossible for the average warrior to counter. Despite his longer weapon, Jason was outmatched, the gash in his armor was at the hand of Scar's lethal precision.

It was only by utilizing the explosive corpse of a mage and swordsman that Jason turned the tide, escaping with his life. This encounter was a harsh lesson in the superiority of skill over sheer strength, only strengthen Jason's belief to hone his own martial prowess.

Yet, amidst the tumult of his escape and the reflection on his encounter, Jason had achieved something significant — leveling up. His recent adventures, fraught with danger and discovery, had culminated in him reaching level 9. A small, unexpected notification appeared, offering a sliver of light in the darkness:

[You received encouragement from the Necromancer Philip (magic supply), freedom points +0.1]

Philip... Jason's heart warmed at the thought of the young necromancer. Despite the harshness of their world, moments like these reminded him of the underlying connections that bound them. With a smile, Jason allocated the newfound points to his Physique.

"Philip, is such a good boy," Jason whispered, his voice a mix of gratitude and determination. In the solitude of his mountain hideaway, Jason found a moment of peace, bolstered by the unexpected support from afar.

As the silver luminescence of the moon bathed the world in a serene glow, Jason stood within the confines of his secret cave, his gaze fixed upon the glowing panel that floated before him, a digital testament to his growing power:

[Skeleton Soldier Lv9]

- Strength: 4.2

- Agility: 3.7

- Physique: 3.3

- Experience Value: 0/380

- Martial Arts: Spearmanship (Experienced 190/300)

- Contract Object: Necromancer Wizard Philip

- Danger Index: 8

A whisper of anticipation ran through him. Only 380 experience points stood between him and his next evolution. A level up that promised not just increased power but the opportunity for a second job transfer—a milestone in any warrior's journey.

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Jason pondered his next steps. The encounter with the Eagle Group's mercenaries had been a narrow escape. They would undoubtedly be on high alert now, expecting him to probe their defenses once more. "I can't afford any direct confrontations. Not yet," he muttered to himself. His strategy needed refinement: enhance his spear skills, chart safer paths through the mountains, and, most crucially, establish a warning system to detect any intrusion.

Emerging from the cave, Jason surveyed the rugged landscape that had become his training ground and battleground. His immediate vicinity was plagued by poisonous demon bees—a natural hazard to any unwary traveler but a potential defensive asset against the mercenaries.

Approaching the buzzing hive with calculated indifference to the swarming insects, Jason demolished it, scattering fragments around his cave's perimeter. Each piece, a beacon of danger to his human adversaries, also carried a small monetary value—albeit a pittance, it was a reminder that everything in this harsh world had its price.

Not content with just one layer of defense, Jason meticulously laid out a network of nearly invisible spider threads across the grassy approaches to his cave. Each thread, when disturbed, would signal an intrusion, allowing him to react with the swiftness of a waking predator.

[Mission: High Alert! Completed]

[Reward: Experience +50, Strength +0.2]

Satisfied with his precautions, Jason retreated to the solitude of his cave, dedicating himself to the mastery of his weapon. For three days and nights, the echo of his relentless practice filled the cave, a testament to his unwavering resolve.

And then, a breakthrough. The panel before him shimmered, updating with the fruits of his labor:

[Martial Arts: Spearmanship (Elite 0/1000)]

[Comprehension of the Ultimate Move: Heavy Rain Meteor Spear]

A surge of elation coursed through Jason. He had not only enhanced his defensive measures but had also reached a new pinnacle in his martial prowess. With his spear in hand, and the weight of newfound skills coursing through him, Jason felt an invigorating sense of readiness. Ready to carve his path through adversaries, and ever closer to the next phase of his journey.